


Comfort

by The_Sunflower_Seed



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: A little bit of blood, F/M, Panic Attacks, Some swearing thus the mature rating, mild panic attacks, not too bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sunflower_Seed/pseuds/The_Sunflower_Seed
Summary: Your morning goes okay until the military show up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look a second update tonight! WHAT SORCERY IS THIS!? Just kidding but I hope everyone is having a great weekend! FYI: Crosshair’s physique is based off crossbust’s art of him and I was inspired by Misfitchibis’s Left the Light on For You series. Have a good night!

You were huddled in the basement of your house, hands clamped over your ears as you heard ammunition firing, ground shaking footsteps, and shouts ranging from human to a robotic language you couldn’t even begin to understand. Terrified didn’t even describe the emotions taking over your soul now. Anxiety shook your muscles into fearful spasms as another set of ammunition spat at your Autobot trying to defend himself.

Crosshairs is an Autobot who has been crashing in your garage for several months now. He sometimes would turn into his holoform and spend his time with you instead of with his fellow Autobots. You don’t know why he likes you but you liked him back maybe more than how much Cross likes you.

The morning started out innocent enough, you found Crosshairs crashed on your couch snoring loudly. When you had tried to wake him up, you noticed his holoform had some minor cuts and bruises with dirt smudged on various parts of his face. You woke him out of concern (which irked him to respond with “Damn squishies! Fuckin’ ran me off the road!”)

You were about to ask him if he wanted to try healing the human way (which consisted of a first-aid kit and basic medicine skills you know), the fire fight started. A bunch of bullets shattered your windows and Crosshairs yelled at you to find a spot with no windows before turning back into his Cybertronian form. You bolted for the basement and once reaching an isolated room you were planning on turning into a personal lounge, you barricaded the door shut, locking yourself in as a battle raged around your house.

The lights were knocked out, it was pitch black, and this anxiety attack was not helping your situation. Your knees were to your chest, head resting on your knees, and hands clasped on your ears to try to block out as much gruesome noises were coming from the surface. Your heart was pounding furiously at a fast rate, your body started shaking from an invisible cold but your body felt like it was legitimately on fire, and your breaths were ragged, hyperventilating with every muffled curse Crosshairs spewed above.

A hard slam shook the ground violently, prompting you to curl tighter into a ball. Tears streamed down your cheeks at the mere thought of Crosshairs being put into a vulnerable position. You hope he’d be okay whether successfully driving off the military or fleeing the property. Either one would’ve been fine if he didn’t get himself killed!

BLAM!

An explosion rocked the foundation of the basement but your house unfortunately didn’t survive the explosion. How did you know? All the debris from above slammed down onto your body, into the concrete floor. Your head spun a bit since your arms took the brunt of the fall but it was jarring. Your vision swam before your eyes closed and went into a dreamless sleep.

~…~

You felt heavy, like lead. Your eyes fluttered open and your ears twitched a bit, registering the noise of something being thrown off to the side. Each time it returned, the noise got louder. The rummaging seemed more erratic, “Babe!”

Internally, you let out a sigh of relief. Crosshairs sounded fine but you weren’t. You were far from okay; somewhat rattled by the battle, you were buried, pinned.

“If you can hear me, say something!”

“Cross!” You couldn’t keep the desperation out of your voice, it was terrifying you couldn’t do anything. Wood splintered and groaned as something pulled the lumber out of the pit formerly known as your basement. It was rushed, sunlight occasionally peeking in certain areas of the basement you could see from under the lumber debris.

“Keep talkin’ to me!” The sunlight seemed to pour a few feet in front of you, before being replaced by a big shadow. The shadow disappeared for a couple moments before a new one showed up, jumping in front of you. Combat boots and a trench coat, it was Crosshairs holoform. He threw a chunk of debris that blocked your vision out of the way.

You peered up at Crosshairs; he seemed okay, he only had minor injuries from cuts on his face, a couple slashes on his abdomen, and what looked like a graze wound on his left arm. Not so bad. He probably experienced worse injuries.

“As much as I like you staring down at me, I’d appreciate it if you could, you know, get me out of here!” You tried jokingly only for your voice to squeak. With a snort, Crosshairs stood over you as he threw large pieces off your body, completely silent.

What was up with him? Usually he’s very vocal and ass induced but now he’s quiet. Too quiet. You tried to speak but you couldn’t get your jaw to move. Your heart hammered harshly against your chest as another panic attack surged through your veins. You laid your head down and closed your eyes, trying to will the panic away.

The load on your back felt lighter as you focused on your breathing: inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, and exhale for eight. Over and over again you repeated the breathing technique but no matter how much you tried, your anxiety managed to break through the routine and wreak havoc on your mind.

A hand settled on your shoulder, “Come on, we got to move.” With shaky steps, you clambered back onto your feet, supported by Crosshairs. You couldn’t look him in the face, not while your vision was blurred by the panic attack. It wasn’t as intense as the one during the fight, it just was inconvenient.

Suddenly, you were in Crosshairs gigantic hand, being lifted away from the pit, up to his face. His blue eyes were focused on you, his frown dipping a bit lower.

“What’s wrong with ya? Ya don’t look injured.”

“Sorry,” you squeaked before getting to your knees in the palm of his hand, “it’s a panic attack. It’ll go away.” Crosshair’s seemed frozen for a moment before getting back to you, “You’ll be fine. Seems like it’ll go away on its own.”

You didn’t give him a courtesy of a response when he put his palm on the ground. You slid off and walked a couple feet before hearing his ground shaking footsteps turn into soft crunches in the grass. From the wreckage of the attack, it looked like your first aid kit was still closed and locked, resting in a bush.

“We need to move soon.”

“How about I patch up your human form and _then_ we can leave?”

Crosshairs muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue. He was probably coming down from an adrenaline rush and you didn’t want to reignite it. You needed something to do, it would help make your panic attack disappear faster if you concentrated on fixing someone. In this case, it was Cross.

Retrieving the first-aid kit, you gestured him to sit down in the grass. He folded his arms in great disdain.

“I’m not going to get filthy!”

“It’d make my job easier if you sat down and let me patch you.” You can feel a bit of frustration bubble a bit. You knew Cross could get stubborn but stubborn enough to refuse medical treatment? That might be the line you needed to define. He haughtily snapped, “I am not going to do it!”

“Cross, just stop.” It was stern and you weren’t in the mood for this. Crosshairs picked up on your tone because for once he didn’t argue back. Instead he looked rather concerned. You gestured for him to sit which he hesitantly did, his trench coat acting as a makeshift seat, as he lowered himself down to the ground. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. Not a good thing to be wearing when you needed to find his injuries.

“Take off your shirt.”

“I don’t think this is the place nor the time.” He jabbed, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes at him, “As much as I appreciate your ego, I want to see your injuries.”

“Alright, alright.” Slowly Cross peeled the black t-shirt over his head, grunting at supposedly opening some injuries that had healed with the fabric in it. His toned tanned abdomen was littered with cuts and bruises, the only injury that caught your eye for immediate attention was the bullet graze on his left arm. You rummaged through the kit and found your hydrogen peroxide.

“Is this necessary?”

“Yeah don’t want you to get infected.” You moved over to Crosshair’s left arm, bottle dauntedly prepared to invoke some healing powers at a cost.

“This might hurt a bit.” You didn’t wait for a reply as you poured the stinging liquid onto his injury, the wound bubbling and fizzing. Crosshairs hissed at the sensation, clearly not thrilled about what was happening to him, “FUCK!” You put the bottle down and with a clean wipe, started wiping some dirt and other minuscule fragments out of his open wound. You looked down to see a needle and some thread but there was also an adhesive used to tape an injury closed. Although stitches closed a wound and healed effectively, people’s pain thresholds were much lower than others and you haven’t seen Crosshairs limits. So that begs the question, “What’s your pain tolerance?”

“High but I prefer ya don’t use the needle and thread.”

He must’ve seen his options. You grabbed the adhesive strips and slowly worked your way to closing the injury. A few more quiet moments passed before Crosshairs spoke, “How ya doin’?”

“Fine.”

“Babe,” He grabbed your hand after you put one of the last remaining strips over his injury, stopping you temporarily, “ya ain’t fine. You’re still shakin’.” You were? You couldn’t tell as you finished the adhesive tape. The little cuts can fix themselves. They weren’t as major as a bullet graze. You placed all your tool back in the first-aid kit. You looked up to see the remains of your house still located in the pit of your basement.

How are you going to explain to the insurance company about this? Not like you could tell them that the military destroyed it when they were trying to kill your friend from outer space. It just sounds ridiculous! Cross tugged down on your arm and you sat in his lap. You were surprised since he isn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy but you went with it, eventually leaning against him. Your body was trembling slightly but it wasn’t that big of a deal. At least not to you.

“Still scared?”

“No, just cold.” You lied, you didn’t want to tell Crosshairs you were shivering over nothing because it seemed ridiculous. He seemed to buy it but hugged you to his chest and muttered, “You’re okay, I’m okay, we’re all okay. Except for the flesh-bags but still!” You chuckled at his crude joke, knowing at least he brought you some comfort before you had to face reality again. With him though, you can face anything.


End file.
